


Carpe Noctem

by Cheylock



Series: A Very Stisaac Pack Christmas [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dead Poet's Society, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-13
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 01:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheylock/pseuds/Cheylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac gets poisoned and the only one that can really take care of him is Stiles. Isaac is ill beyond all reason for several days and Stiles winds up getting him to watch Dead Poet's Society. Tears happen, and then Isaac seizes the night by the teeth.</p><p>Contains spoilers for Dead Poet's Society. If you have not watched the film, you should maybe not read the fic. Thanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Noctem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twahtohnedskee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twahtohnedskee/gifts).



> For Zoe, seriously one of the sweetest humans I've ever met, a person I am eternally lucky to be able to call my friend. She always makes me happy, and always makes me feel special and good, and she's just increadibly spectacular and wonderful and I DON'T HAVE THE WORDS OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE.

Isaac came to slowly, as if through sand, head swimming, stomach heaving a little. He was warm, too warm, and he tried to kick the covers off but moving _hurt_ so he just settled for whimpering, trying to move his arms and tug whatever blankets were on him _off_ and failing miserably. He could feel sweat on his forehead and he whined a little louder, completely unsure of his location or why he felt like this, like death, like dying. There was shushing, and coolness on his forehead, and the blanket was tugged off him, and he slept again.

 

When he woke he felt a little clearer mentally but he was cold, he was _so cold_ , completely in spite of the blankets, and he was shaking and the only sounds that poured from his mouth were whines, he thought that must be the only sound he could make, but then there was air hitting him and he started to _cry_ , he was going to shiver apart, but then...warmth. He curled into it gratefully, still shaking, and then he was sucked under again.

 

He woke to a voice that was familiar in tone but unfamiliar in volume; he’d never heard Stiles’s voice so quiet. “—bullshit, Derek, I know he’s gotta work it out of his system but there’s gotta be something I can _do_ , he keeps shaking and he was so _hot_ earlier, and now he’s still really hot he’s like sweating all over the place and I had to lay down with him, he was acting like he was _freezing_ —”

Derek’s voice crackled sharply from the phone’s receiver—”He’s been _poisoned_ you idiot what’re you doing getting that close to him he’s not coherent enough to have any control he could rip to you shreds”-- and Isaac gripped the warm body he was cuddled into weakly, whimpering and rubbing his face onto it, feeling like his whole body was floating but in a _nasty_ way, in a way that was making him feel even more ill.

He abruptly realized that there was a _body_ he was gripping and a _heartbeat_ under his ear and he was hearing _Stiles’s_ voice and all of these things’d seemed separate before but they coalesced together and Isaac opened his eyes and looked up, and he saw Stiles looking at him all soft and sympathetic and _then_ he realized that the fingers in his hair were _Stiles’s_ and he didn’t know how he felt or what he felt and he still kind of didn’t even know where he _was_ or _why_ Stiles was there, but Stiles was looking at him and Stiles didn’t look scared or mad and that worked, that was fine.

“Hey, Derek, he’s sort of awake. His eyes are still pretty glazed, stop freaking out though. I’m gonna go. He’s not gonna hurt me.” Isaac was fading in and out with his eyes open, sweat pouring from his face, and he couldn’t _focus_ , this was like the time he’d had mono and pneumonia at the same time, he felt like he was dying.

He spoke and his voice was barely a whisper, a pathetic whimpering cracked thing, and he had no idea how long it’d been since he’d had a drink. “’M gonna die?” God everything hurt _so much_.

Stiles shushed him and fluffed his hair a little, and he sounded impatient and a little scared but still way too quiet for it to really be Stiles. “No, Isaac, you’re not gonna die, dude, that’s why you’re here—I’m taking care of you.”

“ _Why_?” The whole world seemed to be swimming now and Isaac didn’t mean to sound ungrateful but he didn’t get it, didn’t get why Stiles was letting him lay here with his head on Stiles’s chest, close enough to feel the coolness of Stiles’s breath on his sweating face.

“You ate something you shouldn’t have and it made you smell _so freaking rank_ that it was hurting your little werewolf pals, and Deaton can’t exactly have a sixteen year old boy in a cage in his clinic, so my house was the next best option. You thirsty?” Stiles sounded like he was sort-of joking but all that really registered for Isaac was that second part and he nodded just barely, eyes going half-lidded.

“No idea what you’re talking about. _Please_ water. _Please_. Don’t think I can—pick my head up, though…” He was slurring hard and starting to slip back down into the dark. His eyes slipped closed again.

Stiles jostled him a little. “Hey, none of that. You need fluids. Here.”

Isaac felt a small hard tube slip between his lips and his eyes fluttered open just barely. He was pretty sure he was seeing a bright purple crazy straw. He pulled the tip of it the rest of the way into his mouth and sucked on it _hard_ and it took a full five seconds for any liquid to reach his mouth, which was almost enough to make him just give up. Once the water came into his mouth he became almost crazed, though, and drank until there was nothing left. It exhausted him.

“Holy crap, dude! Hang on, I’ll go get more—”

Isaac clutched his arms around Stiles tighter, whimpering again, making it plain that he didn’t want Stiles to leave. Stiles was _warm_.

He heard Stiles laugh and his eyes fluttered barely open again. He hardly registered Stiles blushing, just the brightness of his eyes, and it kind of hurt Isaac while he was like this so he closed his own eyes again and turned his head, pressing his face into Stiles’s chest, breathing deep, or trying to, at least. Stiles rubbed his fingers deeper into Isaac’s hair. “Hey. I won’t get up yet—I’ll wait until you fall asleep again, man.” Stiles paused and Isaac felt him suck in a deep breath and let it out slow. It tickled his hair and the air soothed the bit of his jaw it touched, even though he felt like he was going to freeze to death. “Thanks.”

Isaac turned his head at that and opened his eyes again. “ _What_?” ‘What are you thanking me for’ seemed a bit beyond him right now, he wasn’t sure if he could speak that much. He felt himself sliding back again, saw the world starting to darken.

Stiles shushed him again and brushed a hand over Isaac’s forehead and back into his hair, a small smile lifting up the side of his face. Isaac thought he said “I’ll tell you when you’re better” but he couldn’t be sure. He slipped back under a few seconds later.

 

“Hey. Hey. I’m gonna sit you up a little, okay? You gotta wake up some for me, Isaac, you need to _eat_ , okay?”

Isaac lifted his eyelids up and it felt like it took everything, like he wasn’t going to be able to hold them there, like he didn’t have enough strength. Stiles was sitting on an ottoman by the couch, looking at him with huge eyes, and he smiled when Isaac’s eyes opened all the way.

“ _There_ you are, dude. You’ve been asleep for two days. Water first?”

Isaac said ‘yes’ but it was just an exhalation of air with a hint of the word on it, and he swallowed and licked his lips, feeling like he was sliding paper over paper. Stiles seemed to get it and moved the end of a ridiculous crazy straw into his mouth. Isaac drank gratefully. He remembered pieces of stuff, but every incident was like a smudged flash against his mind that only barely made sense. He felt clearer now, and less like he was going to die, and he’d really like to know what the _fuck_ was going on. He finished with the water and had his mouth open to talk, but Stiles shook his head.

“Food. You need to eat, man. Here.” Stiles lifted up a spoonful of soup to Isaac’s mouth and Isaac eyed it and him doubtfully for a second. Isaac actually started to _blush_ because Stiles was and he was still too tired and achy to argue, so he just let Stiles hand-feed him like he was a little kid or a sick dog.

Stiles talked as he fed Isaac and Isaac kept his mouth shut unless Stiles was stuffing food into it, content to listen. “So I’m just gonna start from the beginning. You remember the Kelpie that was fucking around in the creek, luring people out there and eating them and stuff? Well. You kind of ate _it_. During the moon. And it was…uh…in the process of getting me to ride it, which, as you know, is sort of the precursor to it drowning and then…well…eating _me_. So. Thanks for that. But you got really really sick like immediately afterward, you started _screaming_ and you had a seizure I think, it was really bad. I got you to my car and then to Deaton and Derek showed up, freaked the fuck out, puked, and left, and then text me and let me know none of the wolves could be around you. There was nothing Deaton could tell me besides ‘treat it like a really bad flu and he’ll be fine in a few days.’ And here you are.”

Now that Stiles mentioned it, he _was_ kind of getting random flashes of tearing into a horse-like thing that had sticky purple blood and he remembered it tasting bad but he also remembered wanting to destroy it so he had, and it was the weirdest disconnect, because now he couldn’t remember why eating it had been a thing involved in the destroying. He thought it was maybe something about getting his mouth stuck to it and having to chew and swallow to get it off him but that didn’t really make sense. His head felt too thick and foggy to remember any of the lore. He sat contemplating it as Stiles fed him the last of the soup, not even realizing that Stiles was done until he set the empty bowl aside. “But wait. What about your dad?” Isaac blinked a few times and looked around and realized fully that this was probably the living room and he was laying on a couch, which just seemed confusing now.

Stiles looked away, small smile fading off his face. “Uh. He kind of knows. About. Like everything. I had to tell him to keep him from taking you to the hospital. He…hasn’t really been home.” Stiles swallowed a little thickly and seemed to visibly make himself cheer up. “But that’s pretty normal, so whatever. Scoot over a little, I think it’s time for you to go back to sleep, if you can. I’ll wake you up in a couple hours so you can eat and drink again, okay?”

Isaac nodded, feeling a little dumbstruck. “Sorry. Um. About that. Your dad. Why do I need to scoot?”

Stiles flushed bright red again and Isaac blinked a few times, totally confused until Stiles opened his mouth. “You’ve kind of been sleeping on me, man. If—I mean, if you don’t need me to lay with you or whatever, it’s fine, I can just sit over here—”

Isaac reached out and he felt like he was moving underwater, his limb was so _slow_ , but he finally closed a hand over Stiles’s wrist. “No. I. Um. I want you to. If. If you don’t mind that much.”

Stiles smiled at him a little tentatively and patted his hand, so awkward but _nice_ that it surprised a smile out of Isaac. “Dude. Yeah. It’s fine. Uh, do you care if I watch TV though? _Dead Poet’s Society_ ’s coming on…”

Of course Isaac had no problem with that. Stiles scrambled onto the couch beside him and pulled the blankets over them both, and Isaac was completely unsure of what to do until his tiredness meant he couldn’t hold himself away any longer and he slid an arm under Stiles and one over, settling his head on Stiles’s chest, blushing hard but so grateful and thankful for the comfort. His muscles felt strained and overtaxed and he just felt _bad_ all over. Once the TV was on he watched it without thought, ignoring his exhaustion in favor of interest—he’d never seen this before, was sick the day his teacher’d shown it in ninth grade—and Isaac occasionally looked up at Stiles’s face, slightly amused at his fascinated expression. He felt an immediate fondness for the red-headed kid, Cameron, he was pretty sure, and for Neil, and for Todd. “I hope they’re nice to Todd.”

Stiles looked down at him and Isaac only moved his eyes to be able to see Stiles’s face, and there was amusement and excitement there. “Dude, you should slee—” Stiles’s eyes grew huge and his mouth dropped open but stayed grinning somehow. “Wait. Have you _seriously never seen this_? Yeah, you’re not allowed to sleep. C’mon, DPS’ll do you a little good.”

Isaac smiled and let his eyes flick back to the TV, and he felt his mouth twisting when Charlie introduced himself. “ _Don’t_ like that guy. Seems like an ass.”

“Hey, hey, give ‘im a chance. Can’t believe you liked _Cameron_ on sight but Charlie not so much. You have a thing for redheads, Isaac?” Stiles said this even as he played with Isaac’s hair and Isaac blushed.

 _No, **you’re** the one with a thing for redheads. She’s not blonde- **anything** , Stiles_. But what he actually wound up saying was “I like funny people.” He blamed the sick. He completely and totally blamed the sick.

It shut Stiles up, though. Isaac found it impossible to look up and see his reaction—he just kept his eyes trained on the screen.

Isaac found himself cuddling closer without thinking about it during the ‘Neil’s dad is a scary asshole’ scene, and Stiles wrapped an arm around his waist and actually started to hold him and well…shit, it was just _nice_. Isaac sighed and held Stiles a little more firmly, too. It stuck in his chest when Neil said “I don’t give a damn about anything” and he had to close his eyes for a second, because that whole moment struck a little too close to home.

Isaac was _grinning_ during Robin Williams' entrance, though, especially after all the _boring_ teachers before him, and he shifted the name automatically to Mr. Keating when it was stated, “this is so _awesome_ ” falling out of his mouth without thought.

Stiles smiled and held him a little tighter and Isaac wasn’t sure if he realized he was doing it. “Glad you’re liking it. Remember this part.”

Isaac felt like this movie was lighting a fire inside of him, it was lighting him up, because it was true, everything Mr. Keating was saying was true—he was food for worms, and if he didn’t gather his rosebuds now there wasn’t going to be another chance to do it.

Later, he laughed out loud at the statement “All the good ones go for the jerks” and Stiles pulled his head away and down, putting himself in Isaac’s field of vision, and looked at him curiously.

Isaac shook his head. “Lydia Martin.” He didn’t _mean_ to say it, but there it was. Totally the sick’s fault.

Stiles’s face fell a little, and he seemed to loosen his arms. “Yeah. She _is_ a good one, I guess.”

Isaac shook his head again. “Not what I meant, but if you say so.”

“Dude, what’d you mean, then? And what do you mean, ‘if you say so’, _you_ asked her out in ninth grade, right?”

“Yeah, but _she’s_ a jerk. _That’s_ what I meant. All the good ones go for jerks.” So this was word vomit. This was what that felt like.

“I…oh.”

Stiles was quiet again. Isaac was amazed that he didn’t jump to Lydia’s defense. He let himself get wrapped up in the movie again, and he felt like Mr. Keating’s words were lighting him up all over—“Every time he makes a speech I just wanna get up and _do stuff_.”

Stiles nodded and his arms tightened again. “I totally get that. Carpe _fucking_ Diem, dude. Just wait until after you’re better, yeah?”

Isaac nodded and promptly dropped back into the world of Wellington, laughing and smiling along with the characters, occasionally frowning and whining high in his throat, just getting totally enthralled. He emerged again when Neil found Mr. Keating’s book on his desk to say “Oh my god, Stiles, they’re really gonna do it!” He was all happiness and excitement.

“Uh, yeah, the movie _is_ kinda called Dead Poet’s Society.” But Stiles sounded amused and kind of excited, too, so Isaac wasn’t gonna worry about it.

He actually wound up _crying_ at Todd’s moment of triumph, when his free-form poetry that was startled out of him by Mr. Keating actually made the other students clap, and he was grinning so big he didn’t even realize he was crying until Stiles rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

Isaac nodded, too full to speak. He found his voice half-way through the soccer game. “Happy for him.” Stiles nodded back and his hand wandered into Isaac’s hair again.

Isaac was mostly calm again when the desk set happened, and it made him love Neil all the more. “I think he’s my favorite. I thought Cameron was funny, but he’s just kinda dumb. _Neil_ is the _best_.”

Stiles nodded and didn’t reply. He seemed like he was bracing himself for something.

The rest of the movie passed in a blur of laughing exaltation and excitement for Isaac…at least until they got to Charlie’s thrashing. Isaac had to hide his face, and he fisted the fingers of his top hand on Stiles’s shirt, whispering “Don’t tell don’t tell don’t tell don’t tell tell me when it’s over okay?” He abruptly realized that all noise’d stopped and he turned his head back toward the TV—the DVR was paused. “Stiles, what the hell!” He lifted his head up slowly, still exhausted but _wanting to know what happened_.

Stiles was pale, he was biting down on his lip, and he looked like he was about to _cry_ —“Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot about that part—”

Isaac sighed and cut Stiles off. “ _Stiles_ , I don’t care, it’s fine, I’m _fine_ , I just feel awful for Charlie—who I totally misjudged, by the way—and _I wanna know what happens_ , I just…I can’t watch, okay? Just— _please_ can we finish? I’m fine, I promise, _please_?” Isaac loosened his hand and rubbed his cheek into Stiles’s chest without thinking, not realizing he was pouting, hardly noticing when Stiles swallowed hard, although the color that jumped into his cheeks was way harder to miss.

“O…okay. Sorry.” He moved to lift the remote and start the movie again and Isaac put a hand on Stiles’s bicep.

“Hey. It’s okay. Just don’t…don’t make it a big deal, okay?” Isaac smiled at Stiles and settled his heavy head back down, and after Stiles let the movie go on he cradled Isaac’s head and whispered ‘okay’ into his hair, making Isaac shiver.

They got past that scene, and the next one in which Neil’s dad was terrifying fairly well, but when Neil’s dad showed up at the play and looked like he was a horrifying level of not happy Isaac started to shiver. Stiles held his head. “I have a bad feeling, Stiles. I have a bad feeling. Please tell me nothing bad happens to Neil. Please.” His voice was desperate and small.

Stiles’s silence was _awful_.

Isaac actually started to cry right then, right as the play ended and the curtains closed on Neil. He was _terrified_. When Neil’s dad said that he was taking Neil out of Wellington and enrolling him in military school, the word ‘no’ seemed to burst from Isaac’s mouth and he shook his head against Stiles. His voice was choked with tears. “He can’t _do_ that Stiles, he _can’t_ , it’ll _kill him_ , Stiles.” He was majorly freaking out right now and he maybe should’ve warned Stiles that he got really into movies and things…but Stiles seemed okay. Stiles just clutched him tighter. Stiles _still wasn’t talking to him_.

The tension just kept building and building and building and by the time Isaac realized what Neil was going to do he was _panicking_ , whispering a steady mantra of ‘no no no no’ and when it happened, when Neil’s mom was hysterically saying ‘he’s alright’ Isaac turned his head down into Stiles’s chest and just _sobbed_. He didn’t know for how long, but Stiles’d paused the movie again, and Stiles was holding his head and Isaac felt so _embarrassed_ but so _not_ at the same time. He croaked out “sorry” and looked up at Stiles’s face—and Stiles was crying, too.

“’S okay, Isaac, I cry every time I watch this. It _hurts_. It’s okay.”

Isaac nodded and settled his head back against Stiles’s chest, leaving one hand fisted in Stiles’s shirt by his own mouth. “It hurts _so much_. It’s not fair. It’s not _fair_.”

“No, it’s not.” Stiles started the movie again and Isaac grieved with the characters, cried with them, _especially_ Todd, clutched at Stiles and mourned the death of a fictional character, and if anybody’d tried to say ‘you know he’s not real, right?’ to him at that moment Isaac would’ve ripped their throat out, because Neil may not’ve been real, but his pain was, and the pain he’d _caused_ was, and it needed to be felt.

Isaac didn’t speak again until he yelled “ _Fuck you_ ” at the headmaster or the dean or _whatever the fuck that fucking asshole_ was and cuddled farther into Stiles. “It was _his_ _fault_. It was _his fault_ and it was _his dad’s fault_ and goddamn it it’s not _fair_ …” He dissolved back into sobs.

Stiles soothed his fingers over Isaac’s scalp and Isaac stayed calm enough that they didn’t have to pause again, but it was _ripping him open_ how they were trying to make it because of Mr. Keating, because of the only joyous thing Neil’d ever really taken for himself. And then _Cameron_ happened and Isaac was all rage and frustration—“Why didn’t you _say_ something—oh my god I _hate him_ what an _asshole_ —” And he was crying _harder_ , god, _fuck this movie_.

“Gotta let you experience it for yourself. _Charlie_ is funny. Cameron’s a fink.”

Isaac nodded fiercely and clutched at Stiles a little firmer. “He’s a _rat_ and I hate him. I hate him, Stiles.”

“Me, too.” Stiles whispered it into his hair and Isaac shivered again. “Hey, you gettin’ cold again?” Stiles curled more firmly against him and pulled the blankets up more and Isaac wasn’t but he liked the closeness so he didn’t say anything and just snuggled, dissolving back into the movie, occasionally muttering ‘this is such bullshit’ through his quiet tears. And then.

The final stand. The Dead Poet’s Society stood on their desks and basically declared loyalty to Mr. Keating (except for _fucking_ Cameron _fuck_ that asshole) and it didn’t _fix it_ , it didn’t _make it better_ , but it was _something_ and Isaac couldn’t stop himself from whispering “O Captain, my Captain” and he would’ve felt like a freak if Stiles hadn’t whispered it, too.

They sat through the credits, Isaac still crying, and neither of them said a word. Isaac wasn’t sure where this sudden closeness had come from between himself and Stiles—maybe it was just because he was sick and all emotional after that movie but he found himself really seriously appreciating Stiles in a way he couldn’t remember ever having done before. Stiles changed from HBO to Cake Boss and Isaac sort of forgot about the TV, he was exhausted from crying and from the sick and he wound up dropping off again, with neither of them having spoken a word about the movie.

 

He woke up and the house was dark and he wasn’t totally sure where he was at first, but then Stiles muttered something in his sleep and Isaac remembered. He disentangled himself from Stiles as gently as he could and wandered around downstairs until he found the bathroom, walking like a baby freaking deer, he was so shaky. He finally got to pee and he looked at himself in the mirror while he was washing his hands curiously. He felt a _lot_ better but there were still dark bags under his eyes, and _holy shit_ was he sticky with dried sweat, he felt gross and kind of awful and there was _no_ way he was laying on Stiles while he was nasty like this—forget that he just had been, he wasn’t doing it again. He wandered back out, intending on sleeping in the recliner, and ran into Stiles almost literally. He wobbled a little but managed to steady himself, and he spoke in a whisper, unsure of whether or not the Sheriff was in the house. “Hey.”

Stiles’s tone of voice was normal, and he took Isaac’s hand like it was nothing, like it meant nothing, and Isaac guessed it didn’t to him, but it made Isaac’s heart jump uncomfortably. Stiles led him through the house as he talked. “ _Dude_ I’m glad you’re up and you can _move_ now, I am _so fucking sick_ of sleeping on the couch—do you wanna take a shower? Your hair’s barely even _curly_ anymore.”

Isaac nodded gratefully, going slow up the stairs. “ _Yes_ , please. Um. Can I—I’m sorry, can I borrow some clothes or something?”

Stiles squeezed his hand gently. “Sure, no problem. Go ahead and go in the bathroom, I’ll bring ‘em to you, okay?”

“’K.” Isaac sincerely hoped that Stiles’s house didn’t have a shower stall, because there was no way he was gonna get through this without having to sit down at least once.

 

Isaac was already stripped out of his shirt when Stiles came back and he tried to ignore the way Stiles looked away quickly, like he was seeing something he shouldn’t. “ _Thank_ you.” Isaac blushed hard—there were actually a pair of boxers on top of the pile.

“Mhm, no problem, I live to serve. Yell if you need me. Bar soap’s mine, smells like oatmeal, hope that’s not too much for your wolfy little schnoz.”

Isaac blinked at him. “You always smell really good, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Thanks, Stiles.”

Stiles went bright bold red and and shook his head, pretty much backing out of the bathroom and closing the door as he said “No problem, dude. My room’s the third one on the right side.”

 

It took Isaac the _entire_ shower to figure out why Stiles’d blushed.

Isaac’d said that Stiles smelled good. That had to be _so weird_. Isaac blushed to the roots of his hair as he finished rinsing himself off.

 

Once he was dry and dressed (except for his perpetually dripping hair—he toweled it off as best he could but it was _always_ soggy for hours) he surveyed the damage to his own clothes. His jeans were stiff with river grime and shredded across the knees and his shirt didn’t look awesome either—there was probably Kelpie blood on it, it was discolored weird over the shoulder and there were rips all in it—and Isaac just balled all of them up and stuffed them in the bathroom’s trashcan along with his boxers, which he honestly didn’t care about that much. They weren’t worth salvaging.

He creeped down the hall to Stiles’s room uncomfortably, ankles and lower stomach clearly visible in the too-small clothes; they fit everywhere but height- and shoulder-wise, what bullshit was _that_? He felt semi-ridiculous and he opened the door nervously, hunched down into himself and tugging on the hem of the shirt so it sat where it was supposed to.

He looked at Stiles, who was lying in bed and reading what looked like Les Misérables, probably trying to brush up on the book before the movie came out. When Stiles looked up at him he sucked in a breath and his mouth dropped open. He closed the book and patted the bed, mouth half-closing, twisting his body away as he put the book on the nightstand. “Hey, dude, c’mere. You look kinda rough. You feelin’ any better?”

Isaac nodded a little and wobbled over to the side of the bed opposite Stiles, feeling unsure, but Stiles lifted up the covers and folded them down so Isaac guessed he was supposed to follow suit and got under the covers, laying on his back. “’M okay. Just shaky. Still tired, I guess.”

Stiles made a quiet humming sound and then the light was out and Stiles was laying down beside him and Isaac didn’t know what the procedure was for this, if he was still allowed to cuddle with Stiles when he didn’t feel like he was dying, but then Stiles was talking and apparently _Stiles_ did. “So…um…do you need some help going back to sleep? You seem to drop off pretty fast when I play with your hair…”

Isaac bit his lip but he only really debated with himself for a second. “Sure. That sounds good.” He curled himself into Stiles easily, laying his head on Stiles’s chest again. “Um. So. Dead Poet’s Society was kind of the best movie I’ve ever seen.”

Stiles laughed and dug his fingers into Isaac’s hair, and Isaac felt himself full-body relaxing. “Mhm. It’s awesome. Definitely in my top ten. Five. Three. Yeah. Three. It’s just—it’s the _perfect_ message for us, right now. Find your voice before you lose the opportunity. Carpe Diem.”

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” Isaac smiled and Stiles laughed a little. And then Isaac realized he really _really_ wanted to seize Stiles’s mouth with his own.

Well. Carpe Diem. Or Noctem, in this case.

He lifted his head and turned it towards Stiles, taking in the way his eyes were basically freaking _twinkling_ out at him in the dark. “Hey.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Stiles’s gently, a little unsure about _how_ to go about it but knowing that he wanted to. His eyes slipped closed and he went with his instinct, opening his mouth a little and keeping his lips soft, and Stiles’s hands clutched a little in his hair. He hoped that meant good things. He slipped his tongue over Stiles’s bottom lip gently and Stiles whimpered a little as he pulled away.

Stiles’s eyes were huge. “What was _that_ for?”

Isaac smiled. Not the worst reaction. “Well, it’s not like I could write you a poem.”

Stiles laughed and he was grinning bright and happy, but he shoved Isaac’s shoulder a little. “No, _seriously_.”

Isaac laughed a little, too, but his voice carried weight. “Seriously? I like you. I wanted to kiss you, so I did. Is that…I mean, is that okay?” It was probably a stupid question to ask after already having _done_ it, but Isaac had to ask anyway.

“Uh. Dude. Are you shitting me right now? It’s freaking _awesome_! Do it again! This better not be some ‘I’m sick I dunno what I’m doing’ thing though…”

“It’s not. Don’t worry.” Isaac kissed Stiles again, and several more times that night, and several _more_ times after that.


End file.
